I am laying in my hammock, the maid has just bought me another cold beer - my fourth I think. The mosquitoes which have plaguing my every move have finally retired for the night. I am alone with my thoughts now; only the incessant night sounds of the forest disturbs my scribbling. I should be at peace here high in the mountains above the searing heat of the coastal plane, but I am not.

I feel ill at ease in the lap of luxury that my host has forced onto me, the car - should I need it, is ready and fuelled to go and the maid is preparing another meal for me and fussing with my hammock. I swing listlessly and imagine that I can hear voices in the night. I imagine the pain and suffering which this land endured, and it chills me. I look at my own hands and in the half-light of dusk I can almost imagine that I have blood on them.

I have come deep into the forest to the town of Guaramiranga, which I am reliably told, is Atlantic Coastal Forest, and not the rainforest proper, for two reasons. The first is to escape the blistering heat of the coast. A heat, which over the last few days has been pounding me continuously, denying me sleep, making me sluggish and melancholic. The second is to learn a little more about the history of Brazil, and in particular, slavery. It was here that the first nail in the coffin of Lisbon's inhumanity was hammered home.

The colonisation of this beautiful land was based on extensive agriculture, immigration by Portuguese colonists and the unrestricted use of slaves. That alone is not remarkable. However what is perhaps remarkable is that the colonists preferred African slaves to the local Indians as they believed they were stronger, more disease resistant and, more importantly, cheaper.

The African slaves brought to Brazil came from different regions of Africa. From exotic countries in Western Africa such as Guinea, Senegal, and Gambia and later from Benin, Nigeria, Togo, Cameroon and more importantly Angola. Little accurate historical records remains, only scratches of testimony told many years after their capture remain:

"They put us in separate parcels and examined us attentively. They also made us jump, and pointed to the land, signifying we were to go there. We thought by this these ugly men should eat us, as they appeared to us. When soon after we were all put down under the deck again, there was much dread and trembling among us and nothing but bitter cries to be heard all the night from the apprehensions."

One historian notes that the indigenous Indians of Brazil had not urbanized or developed religious cultures, which made it easier for the Portuguese to be accepted and for slavery to be used extensively. I, like many others, wonder at the folly of such thinking which is often used to justify barbaric acts.

The Spanish colonies, conversely, were confronted with organized indigenous people, such as Aztec, Inca and Mayan civilizations. Religious cultures were very much a part of their daily lives and they lived in a more structured urban area, which somewhat restricted the Spanish in their use of slaves. Perhaps this also accounts for the difference in Portuguese colonies from, for example, the colonies of other ex-Colonial powers. I had, for example, fallen in love with Macao and Mozambique - both former Portuguese colonies whilst I feel a continual sense of loss each time I visit a former British colony - such as India.

Pulitzer nominated L.A Times journalist David Lamb partially agrees with me when he says that the Portuguese were unique to European colonialism in that they built beautiful cities, but he adds that "to refer to Portugal's colonial history as disgraceful would be to give Lisbon the benefit of the doubt".

He continues by pointing out that Portugal stood for all the evils of colonialism and none of the good. It milked its former colonies such as Angola and Mozambique to economical ruin and bequeathed them nothing. He brushes aside the fact that Brazil was left with a single language that has allowed it to sidestep many of the problems experienced in Angola and Mozambique and remains, at least on paper, a potentially strong country. Today, this sole language is the binding force that unites one of the world's most diverse populations.

Early the next morning, whilst everyone was still asleep, I took a dawn walk around the farm where I was staying. The morning was slowly creeping over the fields and a sallow mist hung in the air. I crept into the silent barn, which apart from the prim farmhouse, where for the last few nights I had slung my hammock, dominated the landscape. The door was stiff and warped with age and the hinges creaked as I pulled it open - a thousand black and white horror movies came to mind.

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